


Over the Edge

by englandwouldfalljohn



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bottom Mycroft Holmes, Established Relationship, I promise, Just for timeline sake, Just like Greg does, M/M, Maybe she'll get a raise, Mild Kink, No References To Series 4, No Spoilers, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Poor Anthea, Post-Season/Series 04, Post-The Final Problem, Rimming, Sex on Anthea's Desk, Shameless Smut, Smut, Top Greg, Top Greg Lestrade, mystrade, oh well, really it's just porn, that's it really, wink wink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 09:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13163760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englandwouldfalljohn/pseuds/englandwouldfalljohn
Summary: Greg turns up at Mycroft's office with only one act in mind: taking his boyfriend over someone else's desk.





	Over the Edge

Italian silk, the color and texture of liquid mercury, felt luxurious under the DI’s fingers as they slid silently up Mycroft Holmes’ chest, coming to rest just beneath a careful Windsor knot. He pressed the front of his body into a ludicrously expensive charcoal suit jacket, matching one breath, two, then clutching that strip of fabric suddenly and jerking it roughly to one side. The other man’s sharp inhale forced him back into the detective inspector, who wrapped a quick arm around his waist, working his belt open one-handed.

“How long will she be gone, then?” His whisper was harsh, accent crass, against the back of Mycroft’s neck. A long stripe licked below his ear sent a shiver through the taller man.

“I can easily enough assume what you’re getting at, and as tempting a suggestion as you make, this is highly --”

“Enough. Plenty of time to talk tonight, but if you’re fighting me on this, I’d reckon we’ve got less than thirty minutes, am I right?” Greg threw his own blazer to the floor without breaking the connection between their bodies, left hand returning to make short order of buttons and a zipper while his right hand slid beneath to grasp at the clear evidence of Mycroft’s disobedient body. Shoving expertly pressed trousers unceremoniously out of the way, he gripped his partner’s mounting cotton-clad erection firmly and began to pump, other hand steadying the bureaucrat’s hip, allowing himself the slight friction of pressing forward, tension building rapidly for both of them.

A ginger head fell back onto his shoulder with a small moan. Indecent as it seemed for men their age to indulge themselves this way, neither could resist the endorphins accompanying this new state of affairs. Amazing how nearly dying puts one’s priorities into perspective.

Pants dropping soundlessly. A hand slipping away. A rustle and a faint snapping sound, and a voice further tinged with desire.

“Grip the far edge.”

“Gregory, though I would very much like to oblige, I truly don’t believe we have enough ti- ahh.”

“Grip the far edge of her desk,” he repeated, right hand rolling a second time across the crimson flushed tip before reluctantly leaving the heat of his fully engorged cock to smooth across a now-horizontal lower back, coming to rest on the inside of a pale upper thigh. He traced soothing circles with his thumb in the fine reddish hair as the middle finger of his left hand systematically began working Mycroft open. The moment he felt the other man pushing back, he shoved his hand into his pocket, squeezed the tiny plastic bottle, and returned two fingers without preamble.

The low-pitched hum of satisfaction that accompanied his ministrations increased the DI’s already considerable pleasure at the sensation of his slick digits surrounded by soft tissue as they pushed, twisted, eased deeper into the only man he had ever - would ever - touch this way. The stretch around him as he prepared to take him, quickly, roughly, desperately, in a space where they might be discovered any minute, in a space that was not even theirs to abuse this way, sent another wave of blood coursing, pulsing, rushing to Greg’s own neglected cock. It had only been a few short weeks since “The East Wind Blew” (as Mycroft put it; he did have a flair for the dramatic), yet neither was a blushing school boy, despite the long decades each had denied himself this particular pleasure - denied even the interest in fulfilling this desire.

But now… now it wouldn’t do to wait. It would never do to wait again. Knees hit the thin heather carpet with a thud and a tongue began alternating with fingers, ravenous pace filling the otherwise silent office with obscenely wet noises. He hadn’t planned to carry on this way, but the strangled sobs of desire he was now coaxing from the typically silver-tongued man above him added fuel to the fire of his own need.

The detective’s right hand gave one final squeeze to the back of Mycroft’s thigh, then both hands pulled away for a moment to pour the contents of the small bottle in his pocket into his palm. The bureaucrat let escape a single whimper at the loss of penetration, to which his partner responded with the plunge and perfectly aimed crook of an index finger, accompanied by the unmitigated sinking of teeth into the pale round globe of an incredibly posh arse.

Hearing Mycroft Holmes scrabble for purchase across his assistant’s desk was far better than any porn Greg had ever seen, and he allowed himself a full-volume moan before dragging his lips a few inches and setting his teeth into flesh once more, leaving his mark where no one else had better come across it. Middle finger rejoined his first, and as he twisted his fist desperately over the head of his own cock, he set a punishing pace that hit its mark - that beautifully sensitive bundle of nerves - on every single pass. Files were knocked to the floor, pens scattered, and long, hot strands of come shot across the carpet under the backless desk as Mycroft was driven over the edge. The sounds of the elder Holmes losing control, which Greg suspected he would never grow immune to, pushed him to his own limit. He gripped a hip and pulled himself up behind the recently spent man, pressing the tip of his cock against a shimmering-wet hole just in time to fill his partner with his come.

“G-Gregory? Did you just - ahhh!” He hissed as a warm glass plug was inserted into his body, accompanied by a whisper in his ear.

“Be a good boy for me and keep that in til tonight, yeah?”

Mycroft’s eyes grew wide as Greg drew up their trousers and wrapped his arms around his lover’s waist, refastening his belt.

“What’s in it for me?”

“Mmm… what do you want? No - don’t tell me. Wait until I’m back at the station. Text me. In detail. Will you do that for me?”

Before Mycroft could answer, the door from the corridor opened.

“Sir, I’ll work the rest of the day from home, cleaners are coming at 2pm, your evening schedule has been cleared, and the DI’s car is waiting.” Anthea turned on her heel, unphased, leaving the door open behind her as she walked back to the lifts. She never looked up from her mobile.


End file.
